


Wordless Interruptions

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Wordless Interruptions [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Castiel in the Bunker, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Possibly Pre-Slash, TWP - Tickles Without Plot, Tickling, Ticklish Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam & Dean invade Castiel’s reading time in the bunker library, it suddenly becomes Cas’ responsibility to not interrupt them.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>
  <i>Sam was laying out some sort of plan of action about where to find the right information in various places in the bunker. Cas was about to ask what they were looking for when he flinched.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Fingers were teasing at the bottom edge of his heel. He stiffened and tilted his head at Dean, a mix of unease and confusion on his face. The hunter wasn’t even looking at him; he was turned over the back of the couch toward his brother as Sam explained the Men of Letters’ organizational system. The fingers started drawing circles and Cas tried to tug his foot away. The grip on his ankle tightened, and now Dean made eye contact and furrowed his brow in mock-seriousness. He brought his index finger up to his lips in a gesture Cas recognized as a signal for silence.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordless Interruptions

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted Dec 2013 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/post/70075739850/wordless-interruptions)

The couch that had recently been moved into the bunker library was occupied by Castiel and a book. He was sitting up against the right arm of the couch, his legs stretched comfortably out along the cushions. His hooded sweatshirt was bunched slightly against the pillow he’d tucked behind his back.

A muted conversation between Sam and Dean floated into the room a moment before they appeared.

Cas ignored their entrance and turned a page, engrossed in his reading. He didn’t notice Dean’s proximity until the other man was picking up his legs at the ankles and slotting himself into the opposite end of the couch. He hitched his left leg up on the cushions and let Cas’ bare feet drop back down in front of his lap.

Sam was setting his laptop down on the table behind the couch. “So I figured, y’know, better look into it and know what the hell it’s all about before getting our hands dirty.”

Dean rested his left elbow over the couch back. “Yeah, but come on. Four whole days of research? That’s cruel and unusual punishment, man.”

Cas sighed and shut his book. There was no way he’d be able to concentrate with these two talking. He went to get up but paused when Dean’s free hand closed around his right ankle. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, but Dean’s attention was fixed on his brother. Perhaps Cas’ input was desired in the discussion. He set his book on the floor and looked over the back of the couch at Sam and tried to catch up on what the conversation was about.

"…not like I really expect you to be loads of help, Dean," Sam finished with a quirked eyebrow.

Dean removed his arm from the couch back and switched hands holding Cas’ ankle. Obviously he was meant to stay if Dean wouldn’t let go of his leg, though Cas was unsure where the hunter thought he would run off to.

Sam was laying out some sort of plan of action about where to find the right information in various places in the bunker. Cas was about to ask what they were looking for when he flinched.

Fingers were teasing at the bottom edge of his heel. He stiffened and tilted his head at Dean, a mix of unease and confusion on his face. The hunter wasn’t even looking at him; he was turned over the back of the couch toward his brother as Sam explained the Men of Letters’ organizational system. The fingers started drawing circles and Cas tried to tug his foot away. The grip on his ankle tightened, and now Dean made eye contact and furrowed his brow in mock-seriousness. He brought his index finger up to his lips in a gesture Cas recognized as a signal for silence.

Cas pursed his lips when the hand returned to his heel. It began gently scratching with dull fingernails. He choked back a sound and stared at Dean, who again wasn’t even looking in his direction. He’d asked Sam a question about some ritual and was apparently listening very intently to the long and complex answer. When Cas tried to pull away again, the fingers jumped up to his arch in a quick spidering movement. He clamped a hand over his mouth and slid down a little to hide his reaction from Sam.

Dean cast an approving glance in his direction and returned to scratching at his heel.

Was this meant to be some sort of game? It certainly didn’t seem very fair - Dean was holding all the power. He decided to attempt leveling the playing field, and reached for Dean’s leg. The moment he leaned forward, however, his arch was attacked again in a clear  _don’t even think about it_  message. He tried to stifle his jolt and pressed back into the arm of the couch, biting his lip.

The disruptive fingers stilled. Cas was finally succeeding at paying some attention to the conversation at hand - Sam had brought up an interesting anecdote about the bunker’s origins - when fingertips began tracing slowly up and down the full length of his foot. His breath hitched and he scrunched up his sole.

Dean finally turned to look at him with an expression Cas thought was aiming for impassive, but missing the mark and hitting just to the left of mischievous. The hand on his ankle let go and moved up to grasp his toes, forcing them back. A warning eyebrow told him how unwise an escape attempt would be.

When Dean started scribbling over the ball of his foot, Cas threw both hands over his face. His leg jerked involuntarily, earning the underside of his toes a firm wriggle, which caused yet another spasm.

"You okay, Cas?" came Sam’s voice.

He looked pleadingly through his fingers at Dean, who bit back a grin and eased up only a little, then he peeked up over the back of the couch. “Yes,” he answered simply, not trusting his voice any further.

Sam passed a skeptic look between Cas and Dean (who was the face of innocence) but evidently decided he didn’t want to know. He rolled his eyes, returned his gaze to his laptop screen and resumed his dissertation.

Concentration was impossible. One finger was starting to work its way between his big and second toes. Cas held in a squeak and slid further down into the couch. Dean languidly drilled between each pair of toes in turn, not even glancing in Cas’ direction. Why was he acting like nothing was happening? Cas was squirming and using every once of his willpower to not erupt into giggles, while his covert assailant was just casually keeping up his end of a conversation. It was maddening. Dean scratched at the base of his toes and made some sarcastic-sounding quip that Cas didn’t register over the sound of his own internal squealing.

The grip on his toes shifted down around the middle of his foot, and Cas silently sighed in relief. But then Dean was stroking across the tops of his toes, and curling them didn’t aid his defense one bit. Cas squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sensation away, which of course did nothing. He hadn’t even known the top of his foot could be ticklish, but Dean was certainly proving him wrong with his devious fingers.

When Dean brushed a sensitive spot along his instep, Cas kicked out with his other foot, and immediately regretted it. The hunter suppressed a grunt at the impact but had already snatched the edge of Cas’ pant leg, preventing him from drawing back to a safe distance. Dean dropped his chin slightly, meeting Cas’ wide eyes with a playfully cold stare. Then he was shifting into a normal sitting position, dragging both Cas’ feet into his lap and crossing his legs to trap the ankles between his thighs.

Dean now locked his amused eyes on Cas and began lightly scraping his nails just under the balls of his trapped feet. Cas hitched up before collapsing back with both hands clasped over his mouth. The hunter didn’t break his gaze but let his hands drift lower, tickling all along the arches and outer edges of the ex-angel’s feet. Cas arched up and rolled his ankles, desperate to escape the wordless torment.

Dean grinned and caught both big toes in one hand to steady his targets. He figured Cas could use a little extra help staying quiet, so he tossed over the little pillow from his side of the couch. Cas grabbed it without hesitation and pressed it over his face, fingers digging into the plush surface as Dean started spidering all over both his soles. Muffled snorts only seemed to encourage the attack. 

The tickling fingers finally slowed, then stopped, although Cas’ toes were still held captive. He cautiously peeked out from beneath the pillow, hoping it was all over, just in time to see Dean leaning back from his reach to grab a stray pen off the coffee table in front of the couch. The hunter caught his eye with a predatory grin, and Cas made a strangled sound of protest. Then the end of the pen was being dragged up one foot, and the pillow was clamped tightly back over his face to conceal his whimpering giggles.

Dean gently sketched invisible patterns from Cas’ heels all the way up to the base of his toes, then took care to poke each toe pad before reversing direction. The fallen angel was shaking with silent laughter, hands clawed into the pillow and knees jerking uselessly.

The pen broke contact, and when fingers didn’t immediately replace it, Cas ventured another timid glance from behind his pillow. Dean had the pen up at his mouth, biting down on the cap to pull it off. He glanced over and flashed a smile with it in his teeth, then winked and bent forward to get a better view of Cas’ soles.

Castiel yelped into the pillow when the pen scrawled across his right foot. Dean was writing something, but it tickled worse than just about anything Cas could think of, which wasn’t much in his distracted state. He squealed whenever it hit an especially sensitive spot. When the hunter reached the bottom of the arch, he switched feet and continued writing on the other, all the way down the heel. By the time he finished, Cas had both arms thrown across his face, the forgotten pillow tumbling onto the floor. He wheezed and yanked his knees to his chest the second Dean released him.

"I couldn’t… stay quiet…" he giggled. "I’m sorry… I interrupted your research, Sam."

"Dude, Sam left like ten minutes ago," Dean snickered. 

Cas sat up and looked at the empty room behind the couch. “ _What_?”

"He did one of those eye rolls that could shift the rotation of the earth, and got up and left."

"But- but you tried to keep me from making noise. You gave me a pillow." He looked down at said pillow and reached down to put it back on the couch. 

Dean gave his best  _guilty-as-charged_  grin. “Yep.”

Cas glared with all the severity he could muster, but knew a smile was still tugging at his features. “And you  _wrote_  on me.” He turned his right sole upwards -  _i am_ , with a little heart dotting the  _i_. The left foot read  _ticklish_ , the tail end of the word trailing almost illegibly over his heel.

"I’m going to have to scrub this off, you know," he commented with a little shudder.

"I know," Dean smirked. "Thought I could help, maybe."

Cas huffed and cautiously stood up, the floor cold on his tender feet. He grabbed his book off the floor and placed it on the coffee table, then whirled back toward Dean and tackled the smug look right off his face.


End file.
